


One Magical Night

by my_thestral



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 23:10:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5604457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron Weasley has been placed as the only item on the Christmas wish list by a certain blond Slytherin half his age – and try as he might, there may be no way out of this determined Santa's bag</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Magical Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bleedingangel84](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=bleedingangel84).



> This was a part of the [Sceasleycest's December 2015 fest](http://sceasleycest.livejournal.com/) and it couldn't have been possible without a super-speedy beta-job by [bleedingangel84](http://bleedingangel84.livejournal.com) who literally worked night and day to complete this mess in due time and squish it into presentable form. Thanks a million, babe, this one is for you! :)  
> This is my first cross-gen AND it has two different POWs, so please be merciful - it was done in two measly weeks and it's hardly a work of literary genious, so... yeah. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: If characters were mine, I would probably not be playing in the wonderful world of fanfiction, but sitting on my millions, getting bored. ;) But they're not, so there's no millions flowing in from anywhere (not even in knuts!)... :)

 

Tonight's the night. I've got one chance to get this right, and if I bollocks this up, I might just die of a bad case of blue balls. You see, this might just be my last Christmas in this household, in his home, and after that, I’m out of excuses to ever return here for any length of time. So, yeah, I’m kind of desperate. And nervous… god, I’m nervous!

I spent hours… well, forget hours, I spent bloody _days_ , didn’t I, contemplating what to wear, how to make him notice me, how to impress him enough for those deep blue eyes to linger on my arse just long enough to give me an excuse to approach him. And I’ll have you know, this shit is hard; dressing up for a man you’re desperate to own, if only for one night, because he’s likely to regret it, and he’s never going down that road again – yeah, that’s hard. Mostly because I am. Hard, that is. I swear that gorgeous fucker just looks at me with those bright blue eyes and that lopsided grin that makes him look two decades younger – and I’m all aching and bothered.

And how the fuck I am supposed to hide that today in the watertight leather pants I put on for the occasion is anyone’s guess! You try holding a polite conversation with the father of the girl you’re best friends with when you wank to him every free second of the day! Jesus F. Christ, how did I ever end up so fucking head over heels… smitten… with a man twice my age?! With _him_ of all people! Father would have six litters of screaming kittens if he knew! Thinking I’m here for Rose got him wound up enough, murmuring angrily about never having a peaceful family dinner again if I shack up with a Weasley, but if he knew _which_ Weasley I was actually after… yeah, you get the point. I’d be an orphan overnight and possibly a destitute one, if he managed to disown me before he exploded!

But I can’t let that stop me… I can’t. I need to get Ron Weasley tonight, because… well, because I’m sick and tired of my heart going wild at every passing glance he throws me when I want so much more; I’m sick and tired of fucking girls, and girls only, with my eyes closed, because I can’t stand the idea of yielding to any other man but him; and I’m sick and tired of being so bloody lovesick and desperate. A Malfoy here, hello?! A proud Slytherin, a crazy in love one, and I _refuse_ to miss this one and only chance at the man I’ve been crushing on since I was twelve!

I turned eighteen a month ago, with Rose and Al just months behind me, which makes it legal in every way possible – but it also means that Rose and I might not be spending that much time together anymore after the NEWTs. We’re talking about getting a place together, of course, the three of us, but little good will that do me, if I can’t come to the place where he lives anymore. What chance will I ever get to see him again? So, you see, it _has_ to be this year. There are other reasons, but I suppose the most important one is that, finally _– god, fucking finally! –_ his wife is out of the picture; it sure took her long enough! Don’t get me wrong, Hermione Granger Weasley is a fine woman. She always treated me with kindness and respect, regardless of her ugly history with my father – but she was his _wife,_ and I could never quite forgive her for that.

Besides, they weren’t good together… well, at least not in the last few years when I started following Rose home every holiday, like a lovesick puppy. I’ve witnessed some of their fights – and, my god, were those _epic_ or what?! I could feel my hope growing with every one of them… only to be crushed yet again with yet another reconciliation, and I was becoming bloody desperate over the resilience of this legendary relationship. What kept them together for so long, according to Hugo, was their make-up sex – apparently they nearly had to evacuate the neighbourhood when they were at it. Which is as depressing a thought as it is an impressive testimony to certain… _skills_ of Ronald Weasley that make my skin prickle with sweet expectation.

But, in the end, they had nothing more to shout about and – with tears on both sides and better friends than ever – they split. I got drunk like an ape the night I found out, treated the whole fucking dorm to smuggled in Ogden’s Finest Firewhiskey, and I told Rose to drown her sorrow in it. I couldn’t tell her the truth… I couldn’t. Not yet. She’s smart enough to know I’m not into her, and I think she suspects that I’m after Hugo… which I totally would be, if I had any sense at all. Bloody shame that I’ve gone so stupid and obsessed with their father….

You see, Hugo is the spitting image of his dad – bright-eyed, tall and gorgeous beyond words, daring and fun like his crazy uncle George, smart like his mother, and incredibly sweet on top of that. Which is exactly the problem: he’s too perfect. He doesn’t quite have his fiery father’s edge – or perhaps I don’t know how to bring it out – he doesn’t frown the way his dad does at the sight of me, he doesn’t ruffle my hair in that way that makes me blush and he doesn’t… he isn’t… he isn’t his dad. No matter how much alike they are, he’s not Ron Weasley, and something inside me won’t let me give in to him.

Besides… Hugo knows. He’s the only one who does. He caught me wanking over his father’s picture when I was fifteen, and he just said: _“Jesus Christ, Malfoy… be careful… my dad breaks more than bones”,_ and he left me to my embarrassed, mortified self and never breathed a word to another soul about it. He’s just the coolest bloke ever.

So… this Christmas party at the Weasley household is my last chance. I need to get Ron Weasley tonight, or I’m destined to spend a lifetime looking for him in other people’s eyes. I’ll come up empty, I know I will. There’s no one like him out there. No one laughs the way he does, his booming male voice resonating with such boyish, childlike joy for life; no one else has the power to look at me once, bloody _once_ , and I’m all putty on the inside; no one smells like pure, heavenly sex and all that heart-wrenching tender protectiveness he wraps around everyone he loves.

I’ve only had a taste of it once, when I crashed off a broom in their backyard, practising Quidditch with the Weasley-Potter clan, cracking the bone in my ankle. He was with me in an instant, as if he had been watching me, no one but me, and he guessed what was going to happen before it did. He kneeled down beside me, all that warmth suddenly at the touch of my fingertips, those stunning blue eyes on me, filled with worry, and those long, calloused fingers, inspecting my ankle, surprisingly, incredibly gentle on my skin. I was all goosebumps, the treacherous heat climbing down my body like a hungry snake, and I swear my heartbeat went through the roof. I think I must have forgotten my own name. When he asked me if I was in pain, I could only nod and I couldn’t stop staring at those sweet, soft lips saying… something, whatever, it didn’t matter because I was nearly swooning to kiss them.

“The boy’s in shock,” he told Potter Senior, who of course had to bring his miserable Saviour arse near, ruining our moment. “I’m taking him to St. Mungo’s… you know, just to be on the safe side – I don’t want Malfoy – the other Malfoy – accusing me of negligence or some such rot.”

Potter nodded and mumbled something about waiting half an hour before informing my dad, but he could have shot a few Unforgivables left and right, and I wouldn’t have cared, because the blue eyes of Ron Weasley were suddenly staring straight into mine, and I think I drowned in them.

“Scorpius, I know it hurts, but you need to listen to me now and do what I say, and we’ll have you sorted out soon, yeah?” he told me, his voice uncommonly soft and controlled.

Again, I could only nod, and he smiled at me encouragingly, breaking my heart in a thousand pieces.

“You’re incredibly brave,” he said gently. “Your father would have howled like a wounded Hungarian Horntail if it was him. Now, put your arms around my neck, so I can lift you up and… yeah, that’s right.”

He looked a bit surprised at the speed with which I complied with his demand – but please, how could I not?! The man I was so smitten with that it hurt had asked me to put my arms around him – I couldn’t possibly risk him changing his mind!

After that, he picked me up as if I weighed nothing and instructed me to _“Hold on to me tight!”_ – but he needn’t  have bothered. I practically locked myself around him, closed my eyes, and leaned my head in the crook of his neck. If I had died that moment and gone to Heaven, I wouldn’t have noticed it because I would have been exactly where I was  – in his arms, breathing him in.

In the blink of a moment it took him to Apparate us to St. Mungo’s, I’d gotten addicted to the incredible warmth of his skin, to the sweet scent of summer nights caught in his fiery hair, to the musky, sexy smell of a real man that made my skin break into shivers and instantly made my cock heavy and desperate, angrily pressing against the fabric of my trousers. And I must have forgotten myself completely – the next thing I knew I mewled quietly and pressed the tiniest of kisses into his neck.

He froze for a second and I could’ve just _Stupefied_ myself for being such an idiot. I quickly whimpered something about being in pain and I felt his muscles relax under my arms.

“But of course… you’re not yourself,” he murmured and I’d bought myself a few more moments of bliss in his arms when he took me to the emergency ward. He wanted to put me down, onto the bed the Healer-in-training had pointed us to, but I wouldn’t have any of that; I was desperate to have him for as long as I could, so I whispered something about hospitals terrifying me – and he just kept on holding me. He sat patiently with me wrapped around him while the Healer was taking care of my ankle, and I buried my head even deeper into that sweet little spot where the surprisingly elegant neck met those strong, broad shoulders, and I closed my eyes and pretended that he loved me.  

I could have murdered Potter when he arrived, my panicked father at his side, and they took me away from him. He barely said a word to me all this time, but he held me like he owned me, and I would die a happy man if I could have that feeling back again. He just looked at me when I was taken away in a wheelchair, and I’ll never forget that look. It was as if he had been dreaming a strange dream of his own, and someone woke him up, leaving him confused and lost and not entirely sure what had happened. That one last look he gave me is what I’m building all my hopes on. He looked at me like a man, like _my_ man, and I wanted to fly into his arms and never leave.

That was six months ago, and from that day on, I’ve been more obsessed with him than ever before. I used to urge Rose to fire-call him every day, you know, so she could find out how he was coping with the divorce – and I could at least see him. I spent my entire day waiting for that one, brief moment at the fireplace when his eyes darted toward me, almost shyly and he smiled – _“Hey, Little Malfoy! Still taking good care of my Rosie, I see…”_

He nearly always calls me little Malfoy – Scorpius is only for the times when he’s serious – and I happen to find it very endearing… just, please don’t tell anyone, because I have to roll my eyes and pretend to be annoyed; it’s our little game. I don’t ever say much in reply, of course. I can’t really talk, because I’m dead frightened I’ll open my mouth and something really demented like, _“I’m crazy about you, please, please, give me some hope…”_ would fly out.

So now I’m here, about to see if I have a snowball’s chance in Hell to win the attention of the most oblivious bloke on the planet, my best friend’s father, the thorn in my father’s side, the most infuriating, most adorable man I know; the man I’m desperate to own for however long he’ll have me.

He doesn’t suspect anything. Well, at least I hope not, because I need him off guard with his defences down, I need him off balance and not able to think straight about all the wrongness of it. And god, dear god, all I really need is the tiniest chance, and I promise to make the best of it. Perhaps this is destined to fail, but Merlin… Santa… whomever is listening, I only have one wish for Christmas this year… and every other year from now on. Please let me have Ron Weasley. _Please_.

~

So, yeah, I just kind of have to make it through tonight, and then I reckon I’ll be safe. I never should have welcomed this Malfoy boy… man… well, bloody menace into my home! What the fuck was I thinking?! Uhm… I reckon I wasn’t thinking much to begin with. I was mostly worrying at the beginning, yeah, that’s what I did. This was, after all, a Malfoy – and a proper one at that, if the looks of him were anything to go by; I couldn’t see a hair’s difference between his vile father and him, not one. So, as a Malfoy, however small one, he was a potential bully of my Rose, and he had to be carefully investigated. And, erm, possibly, I was a tiny bit curious about him.

Though, as a proud father, I’d like to add a footnote that I have yet to meet someone mad enough – or self-destructive enough – to go against my Rose. Personally, with all the fatherly privileges and assets on my side, I’d only go against her in a Muggle tank, with crazy Bellatrix and He-Who-Must  – oh, you know, Voldemort as a back up and possibly Harry as air force hovering from above. That girl’s capacity for vicious mischief… honestly, watch me shiver. I think that her Ravenclaw brain might be possessed by my late brother Fred from time to time, or possibly, that she somehow cheated that old Sorting hat, and Hugo is not the only Slytherin in the house... _Yes, I’ve fathered the only Weasley Slytherin in existence, is there a problem_?!

Anyway – not yet quite aware of my little girl’s capacity to hold her own, I was very apprehensive about the Malfoy boy from the beginning… very apprehensive indeed. I made sure I took a good look at him at the station, and he seemed suspiciously audacious, staring straight back at me until it was awkward and I had to look away. I’m telling you, I was none too pleased when Rosie brought him home for the Christmas holiday; no, nope, not one bit! The only thing that kept my annoyance at bay was the thought that Malfoy – the older, evil one – must be feeling equally mortified at his son picking a Weasley for his best friend…

I mean, they were not even in the same house. He really had to make an effort to hang out with her, and Rose only had the best to say about him. So, I – under pressure and somewhat begrudgingly, I admit – agreed that she was allowed to bring him home for a day during the Christmas holidays. But not before I checked with my favourite nephew Al first and he confirmed that _“Scorp’s a decent bloke”_ , while Hermione shouted me into compliance with her half-hour of _“We must leave the old grudges behind… make a peace offering… the innocent generation building bridges…”_ speech, during which I mercifully dozed off, so she could guilt-trip me into agreeing to the visit later. I live in a snake lair, I’m telling you.

So, anyway, here he was, all of a sudden, standing in my living room – a Malfoy in a Weasley household, imagine that! – shaking my hand and looking straight at me with those curious silver-blue eyes I still can’t figure out to this day. He’s a bold little thing, I have to give him that. And that up close… not as much like his father as I first assumed. He’s proud, true, but not… quite that arrogant.  Well, perhaps only in a funny, not-evil, half-mocking way, and there’s a certain… grace if not straight-out kindness about him that his father never had. And even though he’s practically a carbon copy of Draco, who was always a smug, pretty little fucker and he knew it – he doesn’t come across quite the same either. Perhaps it’s those big silver-blue eyes – I swear I’ve never seen such an enchanting colour and changing pattern – or perhaps he just carries himself differently…

The day I first met him, he also had Muggle clothes on – another thing I thought I’d never see on a Malfoy – and perhaps it was this or something else entirely, but somehow, the dislike I expected to develop for him, just didn’t happen. His tiny, narrow hand nearly got lost in mine – because according to Hermione I’ve got “Neanderthal hands” – and he smiled at me when he said _“Thank you for having me, Mr. Weasley”._

And after that all those harsh words I got ready for him seemed to have evaporated somehow, fuck if I know how and where to! I only managed to mumble something like _“Yeah, I hope we’re none too humble for your exquisite taste”,_ which startled an apprehensive, _“Ron! Manners!”_ from Hermione and a desperate, _“Dad, seriously…”_ from Rose, eye roll and all, but that little, poised blond chap just straightened himself up and replied calmly:

“I love it here, thank you very much. There’s company for me here, which I don’t have at home. I’m sure I care as little about _you_ having less money as you do about _me_ having more. You see, the thing is – I cannot play with money and it does not have the capacity to make me happy.”

And that from an 11-year-old! Well, he was 12 that November, but still… I was stunned and, I admit, strangely moved. My fingers moved of their own accord – the silly fuckers would do that to me from time to time – and I ruffled his hair a bit. I guess I just wanted to see him a bit mussed up, more like a kid, not like a Malfoy brat – and I shocked myself when my fingers sank into the softest, finest hair ever. It was even more of a shock when I heard myself speak:

“You’re already smarter than your father ever was. You’re welcome to stay, little Malfoy.”

Already thinking, _“What the fuck just happened?!”_ I turned around quickly before I did some other unforgivable nonsense, spotted Hermione beaming at me approvingly, while a tiny voice whispered behind me:

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley, you’re too kind.”

The fuck I was. Mental, perhaps, to have welcomed him in, but not really feeling particularly gracious; just like… it was the right thing to do… maybe? Well, that would come back to bite me in the arse eventually, as time would show. See, it’s not like he’s done anything _wrong_ , hell, no, I wish – I’d have an excuse to kick him out then… but, I swear, that boy went out of the way to be on his best behaviour when I was around, and it was annoying… and perhaps a little bit endearing. I didn’t want to _like_ Malfoy’s son… but hell, with time, I did. To the point that I missed the brat if the holidays had started and he didn’t visit the very first day – which he normally did. I should have known it back then, that there was something fishy going on in my head, but I’m not called oblivious by my ex-wife for nothing, you know.

The thing was… the boy seemed to _like_ me… like, genuinely. And if you think I’m imagining things, I’ll have you know that even Hermione had noticed it!

_“Scorpius just beams around you, Ron,”_ she would say in a voice that was almost accusing. It pissed me off, of course, because I’d done nothing to cause it and I’d done nothing wrong, yet she made it sound as if had. How was that wrong, I ask you?! The kid seemed to like me, and I was somewhat begrudgingly fine with that… _mostly_. That’s what it mostly was. As soon as the kids’ holidays came around, so would Scorpius Malfoy – and hang me from a church tower if I’m lying, but that boy always seemed sincerely happy to see me. And I suppose… I liked that? Fuck, look, I know I’ve got lots of emotional baggage from always being the last of the last, and I suppose this must be one of those things. I like… _being_ _liked_. It makes me… fuck, yeah, I suppose it makes me happy. Still don’t see what I’ve done wrong.

Only… as the time passed, Hermione seemed to think that I had. She started acting as if he was some kind of a threat to her, to us. The boy would barely leave and she’d be at me:

_“He can’t stop staring at you!”_ How was that my fault?!

_“I wish you didn’t encourage him like this!”_  I literally only said, “Hi, how’s my favourite Malfoy?” How’s that encouraging, for fuck’s sake?! He’s the _only_ bloody Malfoy that’s even remotely on the likeable side!

_“Why don’t you smile at me like that?!”_ Uhm, perhaps because you’re howling?

_“He’s growing up, Ron, he’s almost a man – and he still looks at you as if he’s twelve and you’re his bloody hero!”_ And what’s wrong with being someone’s hero, if you please?! Harry’s done it his entire life, and he’s none the worst for it!   

And then the last one, the one that actually made it all go to hell between us: _“He’s got a crush on you, Ron… and I think you like it. You like it more than you should.”_ And I had no answer to that.

That stupid busted ankle of his… couldn’t he have been more careful?! I’d probably still be married if he was! Nah, probably not. But it all went pear-shaped after that.

You see… _he kissed me_ . I know he was most likely delirious from pain and not quite himself and desperate for some comfort, but still… he _kissed_ me. Just pressed a tiny little kiss into the crook of my neck, and my world just collapsed around me. I was never quite the same again. I didn’t even know my blood could rush like that to… everywhere, every fucking place in my confused body. My head was about to explode, my cock went to a bloody mast in like half a second flat, and my heart… my stupid heart went absolutely wild and aching. _JesusMerlin_ … that boy was a danger to my health! I’m no longer a young man. And he was seventeen at the time, just bloody seventeen – how wrong is that?!

I suppose I would have been  – , _could_ have been alright if there was any chance I could get away from him immediately and make some kind of… sense of things. But I couldn’t. He wouldn’t let go of me the entire time, not for a single second, whispering that it hurt and that he was terrified of hospitals and please, if I could hold him… So I did. And I fell under his spell completely, the bloody fool that I am. That pretty blond head of his found a way into the crook of my neck, and his warm breath caressed my skin… and I closed my eyes and had the strangest daydream that he was mine.

They fixed his leg while I held him, and still he wouldn’t let go. Those long delicate arms were still wrapped around me; that lithe, strong, no longer boyish body pressed against me, all that youthful warmth upon me, and I no longer knew where I was and what was I supposed to do there. I didn’t register the Healers, the procedures; absolutely fucking nothing, not a thing, but the lovely scent of a beautiful young man holding onto me as if there was none other, and I swear it was the most intoxicating, the absolute best feeling in the world to be – needed? wanted? – the way he wanted and needed me.   

No wonder I was all in shreds after that! I barely recognised Harry when he woke me up from my reverie, and Malfoy, taking him away from me… yeah, let’s just say that I remembered why I hated the git, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong on the occasion. And I’ve been a mess ever since. Luckily, two days after that, the kids’ holiday was over, and I was avoiding the boy like a vampire shrinking from a crucifix. But once they were back to Hogwarts, I told Hermione the truth. I told her that she was right, that I was a bloody fool, and that I no longer loved her the way she deserved to be loved. I didn’t tell her about the St. Mungo’s incident, I couldn’t put it into words… but somehow she knew what was brewing. She’s just genius that way.

“Be careful,” she told me, when we were still wiping tears off each other’s faces. “That boy… Ron, he’s barely seventeen. He’s got “ _heartbreaker_ ” written all over his pretty face, and Rose told me he dumps more girls than he dates… and he only dates girls, Ron. He clearly doesn’t know what he wants yet, and you… you’re so bloody vulnerable, as starved for attention as you are.”

“This isn’t about him,” I told her, and I meant it. “You and I growing apart isn’t about him.” And that’s the God’s honest truth. It’s only that… having him around sort of pointed out to a bigger problem: I never really grew up, it seems. How else would you explain that I was willing to trade the solid, genuine affection my wife held for me for a glittering crush; an attraction that was undeniable, but very likely fleeting? How is it that after all these years I’m still such an immature loser, emotional depth of a teaspoon and all?

Unless… this is about something else. And I don’t even want to go there. Anything else would be infinitely more complicated and… it’s not. I’m not. It’s just a crush. Yeah… that’s what it is. And I only have to resist the temptation of those dreamy silver-blue eyes, the slow, blissful smile and that soft curve of the most perfect arse in England tonight. Then he’ll be safely out of my reach, and hopefully, out of those crazy, impossible fantasies I’ve been having all these months after every fire-call I so stupidly agreed to and ended up anticipating nervously, like a blushing bride.

Just one more night, Weasley, come on, you can do it! I owe it to Hermione and to my kids to at least give it a try and not make a mockery out of myself. I’ll get myself one drink, just one, and then I’ll crawl in some corner and wait the night out. Merlin, Jesus and all other celestial entities hanging above, please don’t let him notice me, or this may yet go to the dogs. I’ve always been such a bloody weak creature, and that stupid, aching out-of-control pounding in my chest, as if there is a starved prisoner in there desperate to be released, makes me think I’m up against more than I can fathom.

~

Oh, god… Merlin… here he comes… and would you just look at him, for fuck’s sake… _look at him_ and then blame me, I dare you! Jesus… Ron Weasley, my ultimate wet dream before I knew what a wet dream was. Six and a half feet of passion, fire, and spite, or whatever else it is about him that it makes my heart pound in my ears and my legs turn to jelly. All lean, long muscles, tall – beautifully tall! – with scars and ink and all of that ultra-manly shit covering his impressive body. Seriously, you can’t tell me he’s not a bone-melting sex bomb! Shifting around all those heavy boxes at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes all day long has left him with muscle any active athlete in his prime could be proud of!

And then there’s that chiselled face, eyes so blue they’re numbing, that aquiline nose softened by a spray of most adorable freckles… and that incredible generous mouth with upturned corners, smiling, pouting, eating like it’s all a part of foreplay, and generally doing all sorts of other things that makes me desperate to have it wrapped around my cock, shattering my cool and reducing me to whimpers. I bet he’s a fucking _god_ when he’s on his knees…

_JesusMerlin_ , I swear I get more daft by the second… what the fuck was I thinking picturing Ron Weasley on his knees in front of me?! Now look at me… Salazaar’s pink nipples, I’ll poke someone’s eye out with that swollen, rigid staff I’m swinging about! Oh, hell… why do I let him affect me so?! But I guess I can’t help it. I never could. The very first time I found myself on Platform 9 3/4, aged 11, holding Father’s hand and looking around curiously, I noticed an impossibly tall, redheaded man watching me with interest – and even back then I couldn’t stop staring back. He was so… colourful. His hair was brilliant red in the late summer sun, and his eyes were the bluest I’d ever seen, and so intense…

“Who is that?” I asked Father, who was preoccupied with trying to console my sniffing, red-eyed mum. In the next moment, I saw his narrow face fall and frown all in one, but my father was too much of a Malfoy to let his feelings spill out properly. There was just a tinge of bitterness in his voice when he replied.

“That’s Ronald Weasley, he’s a… well, I suppose his main function in life is Harry Potter’s best friend – I assume you _do_ know about Potter? Yes, I thought so; after all, his existence is rather impossible to miss. I believe Weasley is considered a war hero of sorts, considering he’s been joined at the hip with Potter since they first rode the Hogwarts Express together. And Potter – see that short, skinny fellow by Weasley’s side? Well, that’s the man himself, Harry Potter in person. Not quite grand as the history books would have you assume, is he?”

As sheltered as I was, even I knew little bits about that horrible war that left Father with godawful nightmares  – and I have indeed heard of Harry Potter. One would honestly have to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to have noticed his name plastered on every other shop in Diagon Alley:   _“Provider of office supplies to Harry Potter since…”, “We’re proud to have sold Harry Potter his first cauldron…”_   But, at that moment, I don’t think I would have cared if Merlin himself had landed on Platform 9 ¾ in a golden carriage, carried by rainbow-coloured dragons. I honestly didn’t see an inch past Ron Weasley and his red-golden mane. Potter could go and impress someone else. I had found my man.

I didn’t quite know that at the time, of course, but I couldn’t stop my eyes from following him, long after he was no longer looking at me. I realised that somehow, in the space of minutes, I had grown desperate to have those deep blue orbs linger on me once again.

“What do you think he’s… they’re doing here?” I asked Father. He looked slightly annoyed at my interest, but eventually, he shrugged and replied in his usual bored voice:

“I suppose they’re here to deliver one, if not two, of their brats. I know for a fact that Potter’s second child was born in the same year as you – and it makes sense that Weasley would have one such as well. A girl, I believe… yes. Potter has a boy, that would be… _that_ one, his carbon copy, over there, and Weasley has a girl… the one he’s holding close. It must be her. You can’t miss that garish hair colour.”

The only reason I actually paid my Rosie any kind of attention back then was because she was his child. I saw the same brilliant eyes and the same lustrous hair – and I decided then and there that we should be friends. It was only later in the year that I discovered what a wonderful person I’d befriended, but really, in the beginning it was all about her dad. I wanted to have a closer look. So I decided on a tested-and-approved way of making a lifelong friendship –  I went after her on the train before we even got to Hogwarts, shyly checking if there was room in her compartment, playing the part of a friendless post-war pariah to perfection. Not much effort there, really; I was quite friendless. Needless to say, by the end of that train journey, we – Al, Rose and I – were already cemented as the new Trio. McGonagall actually blanched when she saw us.

Obviously, I would have nagged Rosie about visiting during the Christmas holidays anyway. As it was, I was always so bloody lonely in the manor, being an only child and all, while she and her countless, mostly ginger relatives were the most exciting and wonderful thing ever. But, had my interest been limited to Rose, I might have considered inviting her over to the manor, rather than the other way around – surely she would have at least loved the library! But it wasn’t… and I didn’t. I wanted to see him –  her dad – again. Possibly, a bit closer up than the last time. Don’t ask me why – to this day I don’t know. Yet I still feel that very same fatal pull between us that I felt all those years ago. If anything, it’s stronger than ever. Even back then, I felt as if there was something about the man, something quite irresistible and mesmerising. Young as I was, I didn’t know that powerful magic like love needed to be approached carefully.

I tried rationalising it, of course; I told myself that my interest in him was quite justified. This was one of the Golden Trio, a war hero, Harry Potter’s best friend, and a husband to the other Trio member, the brilliant Hermione Granger – how could I not find him fascinating?!

But I think I knew, even then, that I was lying to myself. With Al as my other best friend, I had access to the Saviour himself, a true hero of the history books – and was I interested? Not in the least! But Ron Weasley? Well, let me put it like this: I don’t think I’ll plan my own wedding more meticulously than I did that first visit. I had all the contingencies covered.

Find out if he’s going to be there; if not, find a way to be there when he is.

Make sure you get introduced.

Make sure you actually talk, not just stare and gawp with the bottom of your jaw hitting the floor.

Have a few smart replies ready; don’t you dare embarrass yourself and your family name!

Make sure you get invited again.

_Make sure he likes you._

See, about that last one… I had no idea why I wanted Rosie’s dad to like me. I wasn’t even sure if I was going to like him once I met him. My dad always said that he was a right prat, but when you grow up with a surname like mine, you tend to take everything your parents tell you with a grain of salt. I’ve been paying for what my father had done for my entire life, and if Rose was a different kind of person, my school years at Hogwarts could have been hell. But, instead, I found myself standing in her family home, my hand strangely warm and safe in the grip of her father’s big, calloused hand, staring up the bluest of blue eyes, telling Ron Weasley loudly that I care nothing for money, and silently that I’m not my father, waiting for his reply, for absolution for my father’s sins, with a flushed face and a heart beating like a drum in my ears.

For the longest moment, he said nothing. Then, his fingers crawled into my hair and ruffled it a way no one had ever done before. The warmth of them, the feeling of acceptance and forgiveness, flooded me in a rush. With the slow, naughty smile emerging somewhere from his lovely eyes and crawling onto his pretty freckled face, Ron Weasley’s personal magic, the one he never knew he possessed, hit me like a freight train.

_“You’re already smarter than your father ever was,”_ he told me in that warm voice he has, and he hadn’t even finished the words when I knew I was in love. That was five years ago, during the Christmas holiday, much like this one. I was twelve, and I’ve loved him ever since. Call it a crush, if you like; whatever makes you comfortable. I know what it is.

So, you see, I’ve been waiting for six years to make it proper. And now tell me, why don’t you, how could I not try tonight? How can I let this last proper chance slip away from me, even though I’m risking everything I formed my life around? My lovely Rose’s friendship is at stake, my status as a welcome guest in this family, even my future… Yet, even if this turns out to be too painful and awkward – I can’t. I can’t let it slide.

I’m a Malfoy, true to my name, and though hardly anyone knows this about us, there’s nothing we wouldn’t do for love. Everyone thinks us driven, ruthless and ambitious, but we’re willing to throw it all to the dogs and do whatever it takes for those we love. That’s what my Grandmother Cissy had done for her son when she betrayed the Dark Lord. That’s what my father had done to save the lives of his parents when he let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. _Whatever.It.Takes._ Literally.

So, now I’m watching him move through the crowd that always floods the Weasley household during the holidays. His eyes are downcast, and he’s trying to blend in. You should definitely try harder, love; you’re a head taller than the rest! He’s manoeuvring quickly towards the corner with the drinks, and from the focused expression on his face, I know that something is up. Merlin, he can’t have some kind of agenda of his own for this evening, can he?! I feel my heart squeeze painfully in my chest – please, God, don’t let him get away to somewhere I can’t follow!

A long muscled arm hugs me across the shoulders from behind, and silken red hair brushes against my cheeks. Hugo. He smells fresh, clean and delicious. Not the right kind of delicious for me, though. There’s none of that earthy, carnal musk his father has that drives me wild from three feet away. His eyes follow the direction of mine, and I feel rather than see him smile in the semi-darkness of the party atmosphere.

“So… my dad,” he says with the same warm, heavy voice his father has. Gods, why oh why can’t I fall for him?! What’s wrong with me?! I can only nod miserably.

“Still. After all these years… how long has it been, Malfoy? Two years? Three?”

“Six,” I tell him quietly, and I feel the muscles of his arm twitch around my shoulders. I’ve surprised him. Perhaps this information is more than he can take. I give him a nervous sidelong glance, and his face is strangely calm, serene and beautiful, stunningly gorgeous. And yet I feel nothing but admiration for him, no love other than brotherly. How can two people that are ridiculously similar leave such different impressions in my heart? Hugo makes me smile; he warms me up on the inside and makes me want to grab a pint and tell him everything. While his father… I swallow my bitterness, my fear, and my embarrassment and ask him.

“Do you think I stand a vampire’s chance at noon with your dad? Just… be honest, please. I don’t want to ruin this – the friendship I have with your family – for something that’s completely beyond my reach. I’ll go quietly, if you think I’m pushing for too much. I’ll…”

“Scorpius!” he interrupts me curtly to get my attention, to break through my misery. I look at him properly, and what I see on his pretty, smiling face lights a tiny candle of hope in my heart for the very first time.

“He’s bonkers about you,” Hugo says gently. “Why do you think my parents divorced? You might not have been the only reason, but my dad’s attraction to you certainly played its part. My mum is too smart not to have noticed the smouldering sparks between the two of you. She loves my dad too much not to wish the best for him, and clearly, that was no longer her. Though she had a very hard time accepting that it might be you, I can tell you that! She can’t see you as anything other than Rosie’s best friend, a boy who possibly has a crush, but no long-term plans of getting involved with my dad. And I think that deep down in his heart, my dad must have known that for once, she was wrong. I think, in the end, that’s why he let her go. But there’s something you should know about my dad, if you are serious about him – _and you’d better be_!”

He looks at me sharply, clearly as protective about his father as I am about mine, and I can’t rush fast enough to reassure him.

“I am,” I blurt out with no reservations. “Dead serious. More serious than he’d wish me to be, if he knew.”

“Good. I thought you might be,” Hugo murmurs to himself, clearly persuaded and pleased by my enthusiasm. “You see, the thing about my dad is that, as boisterous as he comes across, he’s terribly self-conscious. Part of it is, that he was born into a family of overachievers and clearly thought he wasn’t as good as the rest of them. And as if that wasn’t enough, he went and made best friends with Uncle Harry, the Saviour himself; and on top of that, married my mum, the so-called _“brightest witch of her generation”._ And before you ask – no, he cannot see how he radiates his own subtle magic, how he charms and draws people to himself; he just thinks he was incredibly lucky all these years,” he smirks, and I shake my head in disbelief at such hopeless, stubborn, wilful ignorance.

“So when it comes to you, to  someone whom he cannot find any fault with, try as he might, someone who could clearly have anyone he wanted – he’s afraid to even hope,” he tells me softly, and suddenly, so many things I subconsciously picked up about Ron Weasley make sense. Merlin, he would never make the first move, never! And almost as if he was reading my mind, Hugo confirms that I’m on the right track.

“Living with someone as critical and brilliant as my mother certainly didn’t do much in the way of strengthening his self-esteem. He’s afraid to love you back… but my God, Scorp, the way he does!” Hugo suddenly smiles at me, one of those big, bright smiles all the Weasley’s have, and my heart swells to high heaven at his encouraging words. And he’s not even finished.

“I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you, Scorp. You only have to come near, and he just… lights up from inside. He actually seems to grow even taller, goes blushing like a teenager, and he smiles like there’s no one else in the room! If you were ten years older and not a Malfoy, we wouldn’t be having this conversation because he’d kidnap you about three seconds after you entered the room. I honestly think he forgot to close his mouth for about five minutes when he saw you come in. Those pants, mate, honestly...”  

I have to smile at the way he chuckles. It’s so warm and sweet and comforting that I have to suppress the urge to hug him and thank him for giving me hope.

“Yeah, they’re a little bit out there,” I admit instead, a tad sheepishly at that. “I figured it was my last chance to make an impression.”

“Honestly, man, if he’s stupid enough not to make a move, I’ll be happy to have a go at you,” Hugo offers casually, and this time I cannot help but giggle.

“Sorry, I’m only into mature blokes with gorgeous sons, and you don’t fit the profile,” I tell him and before you know it, we’re laughing like a pair of baboons. God, I needed that. Hugo always knows how to give me what I want; how is that? I look at him carefully this time, and there it is, the thing I missed all this time. I suddenly I feel terribly guilty.

“Hugo…” I start awkwardly, not knowing how to phrase it not to hurt him further.

“Don’t,” he interrupts me. “It’s only a crush, I promise, and a fairly recent one at that. Nothing serious… I reckon I’m just curious about you… and _that arse_ , gods… who wouldn’t be?! But since you’re feeling guilty and such, maybe you can introduce me to your father,” he blinks innocently. I sort of forget how to breathe for a second. The mental image alone of bringing someone so epically chaotic into the life of my poor old by-the-book father, must have left some kind of a horrified expression on my face, because Hugo throws his head back and howls with laughter.

“Come on, Malfoy, you can’t be so greedy!” he declares cheerfully. “You can’t have all the gorgeous, recently divorced, mature men to yourself, you know! You must have inherited that divine curve of an arse from someone! I’m willing to share my dad with you, am I not?!”

“Ha-bloody-ha!” I mumble, not quite over the shock that Hugo is interested in meeting my dad. But as I’m watching him chuckle softly, that brilliant blue Weasley glow in his eyes, I’m beginning to think that’s not an entirely rotten idea. Merlin, I’m really more than one sandwich short of a picnic tonight for even giving it a second thought!

“He’d hate you,” I tell him honestly. “Even if he was into guys, he’d only see your hair, think, _“Oh, dear god, yet another Weasley_!”, and that would be it, really. He’s awfully stubborn, you see.”

“Oh, but I like them stubborn,” Hugo declares, still smiling, as if he was indeed serious about that and wouldn’t be knocked out of his course. “I’ve been living with stubborn all my life; stubborn is what I know; it’s what I’m made of. And I’m pretty good at taming stubborn. Watch this, I’m willing to give you a bit of a demonstration… with my dad.”

When he turns his head towards me, I notice the fiery focus in his eyes, and suddenly, he’s all business. My breath hitches because I know I’ve instantly become a part of some unfathomable plan that might leave me bruised and worse for wear, but that cannot fail. I _know_ should be afraid, fully acquainted with the destruction his devious agendas sometimes leave behind. But, when his arm moves from my shoulder and a moment later, those long fingers are intertwined with mine, I’m still beyond nervous, but strangely comforted. I’ve got Hugo on my side; I’ve got a fair chance now, right?

“Come with me, time for action,” he tells me quietly, in a voice full of his mother’s resolve, and pulls me behind him. But when I notice that we’re heading in the direction of Ron Weasley, my knees literally begin to wobble, so he stops abruptly.

“Now, play along,” he warns me. “I know my dad. He’s being pigheaded about this, and I reckon he needs a bit of a shock. Nothing too complicated, it’ll be over in a jiffy. Are you up to it?” he asks me, with hard determination in those Weasley-blue eyes, and after a brief moment of hesitation, I nod with a knot in my throat. I have little choice. It’s not like I had any kind of a plan.

~

_Who.The fuck.Makes those things?!_ These… _trousers,_ pants, whatever they’re called! They’re not even… They’re… They should be _illegal!_ Just look at them! _Look at them!_ Who makes silver leather pants so tight they look like someone painted moonlight onto those long, lean legs?! I can’t even tell where they end and his pearly skin begins… He must have changed into them somewhere on his way here; no way Malfoy, the evil one, ever let his son out in those! They moan, _“Please, fuck me. Hard.”_ , from fifty yards away! And just… look at him… oh, god, look at him! The way he wears them… Those fucking endless legs that would fit so tightly, perfectly around my waist… I can literally see the top of those two sweet buns, just begging to be squeezed and parted and licked and invaded… Jesus… I definitely need some brutal, hard-core fucking; I’ve been abstinent for far too long and with him looking like this…

“Dad, you can close your mouth now,” Hugo chuckles at me when he passes by, and I do just that with a snap, wondering how many people had noticed, and if _he_ had.

Nothing for it now. I was bound to make an idiot out of myself this evening anyway. Time for my “disappearing act” – or the next best thing – I’ve planned for tonight. I’m just going to grab a glass of Ogden’s finest – better make that a double – and I’m going to sit… _there_ , right there, in the dark and try to hide my embarrassing hard-on from the world. There, all settled. Now, if I could only stop my stupid eyes from darting towards him every second…

Hugo is with him now. He’s hugging him across the shoulders like good mates do. Merlin, you know you’ve really sunk low when you’re jealous of your own son chatting up his mate! Oh, my, they seem to be discussing something serious and… drink, Ron, you idiot, _drink_ ! Don’t let him catch you staring! But Merlin, he’s stunning when he’s so serene and so… _ethereal_. Those silver-blue eyes glow as if he’s explaining something he’s passionate about, and I can almost smell the lovely scent of that glittering, long hair flowing across his back in my nostrils. I know the exotic, rich aroma of that silken, blond river all too well; it makes me hard and dizzy with want when I’m within a touching distance. God, what was I thinking, falling for a gorgeous boy… guy… man, like this! Why would someone so perfect even look at me twice; it must be all in my head!

And look, now they’re laughing and I swear Scorp’s got the most beautiful, perfect smile on the planet... He looks so wonderfully warm and relaxed when he opens up like that. Now Hugo is talking, and Scorpius’s eyes literally seem glued to his mouth, as if he is drinking in his every word.

And suddenly, I’m stricken with an impossible, devastating thought that instantly chills me to the bone and literally freezes me to the chair. No. It can’t be. I can’t have been such a colossal idiot… But a quick glance at Hugo, at his captivating, sweet smile, eyes radiating with affection and all that irresistible, dangerous charm confirms my worst suspicions. Jesus, I’ve just been a royal fool, haven’t I?! They’re already holding hands, and I still can’t believe I’ve ever been so stupid as to believe… _yeah_. I can’t even think it.

And I’m afraid to risk a single look at Scorpius’s face now, because I know exactly what I’ll find there – and it will just wreck me. Kill my dumb, starved, deluded heart good and proper. Merlin save me… they’re headed this way now! And I can’t even bloody move, I’m so incredibly crushed and boneless. Hermione, I should have listened to you… I’ve ended up with nothing left to lose.

~

Hugo is still holding my hand when we approach Ron Weasley, who chose the darkest of corners to sit in, as if he would indeed prefer to go unnoticed, if not straight out disappear for the night. I’m rapidly falling apart with every step we take, and by the time we find ourselves in front of Hugo’s dad, I’m nothing but a bundle of raw nerves. If this fails, I’ve nothing to fall back on.

“Hey, Dad,” Hugo says casually, and I notice Ronald’s eyes went all big and blue at the sight of our intertwined hands. I feel all the blood in my body rushing to my head and literally feel faint. If Hugo’s big, warm hand wasn’t clasped around mine, grounding me, I might have collapsed.

“I see you picked the best corner for some smooching,” Hugo continues matter-of-factly, with a small confident smirk on his face, as if he wasn’t treading at the edge of the knife that might just ruin my life if he slipped. “That’s why I brought Scorp along to see if you’d share some of this wonderful privacy.”

“Are you… Are you two…?” Hugo’s dad tries, but his voice is uncommonly rough, and he doesn’t seem to be able to form words properly. His blue eyes are lit up from the inside and they are nothing but a sea of misery, a crystal plane of such terrible wretchedness that I can barely keep my resolve to play along. I know I won’t be able to for long. I can’t stand to see him miserable, and I can’t stand not knowing what makes him so. Perhaps he really doesn’t want any of his kids involved with a Malfoy. Perhaps it’s because we’re both men. I don’t know which thought makes my heart sink faster.

“Oh, you mean are we boyfriends?” Hugo asks calmly, and I see Ron Weasley cross his arms in his lap as if he needed to keep himself together. He closes his eyes for a moment, as if he’s trying to find strength somewhere inside. Then exhales, opens his eyes again, and nods slowly, like a true Gryffindor, ready to meet the inevitable.

And Hugo turns towards me, his long fingers brushing the side of my face when he cups it gently – and presses a long, lingering, loving kiss to the corner of my mouth.

“Of course… “ –  another sweet kiss, just a peck this time – “... _not_ ,” he says with a devious smile and turns towards his father who just sits there as if petrified, with his eyes burning like two blue candles inside the striking, ashen face.

“You’d have to be blind and stupid not to know that he’s only after one man, and it’s not me, Dad,” Hugo says softly. “Believe me, I’ve checked.”

There is some unspoken communication going on between the two sets of blue eyes that makes Ronald’s chest heave heavily, as if he had to suppress some unspeakable emotion.

“Bloody hell,” he says in a shaky, strangled voice, and Hugo’s pretty face literally explodes with a cheeky smile.

“That’s right, Dad. So unless you want to spend the rest of your life wondering what would’ve happened if you had gotten out of that bloody chair that night and asked the right question, I suggest you make your move, before this arse – Dad, _this_ arse! – lands in someone else’s lap. Trust me, it’s a game you cannot lose,” he says with deceptive softness. And in the next moment, without any warning at all, the large hand of this treacherous redheaded devil knocks me forward with no mercy.

“Hugo!” I squeal in a most undignified manner, but the strong, scarred arms are already there, breaking my fall. The next thing I know, I find myself deeply in the personal space of one Ron Weasley and… _oh, damn_. I’ve somehow come to invade his lap, my arms ended up locked around his neck, and the beautiful, enchanting pools of brilliant blue are too close for my sanity. My face is so close I can literally count the adorable freckles, and there’s the bittersweet scent of firewhiskey on the warm breath emerging from between the generous, soft lips I’ve been dreaming about since I first saw them stretch into a welcoming smile. And something inside me melts beyond repair.

“Please…” I manage a desperate mewl before I launch myself at him and take what I came here to get – and just kiss him. I’m done holding back… fuck my restraints… I kiss him hard. I kiss him him with all the radiant, hopeless, pent up passion of the years I spent pining for him; I kiss him deeply, full of absolute devotion, to tell him it’s him I chose, and no one else; I kiss him lovingly for this one crazy chance I’ve been given, and I pretend there’s no way in hell he won’t kiss me back. There is no way… there isn’t… and when the musky scent of his lust crashes into me like a ecstatic wave, I realize that there really isn’t.

His mouth responds greedily, as if he’s starved for it and the way he kisses… Merlin… I’ve never… oh, _Jesusfuck_ … His tongue melts into my mouth and licks me on the inside like hellfire, and he might as well have licked the tip of my swollen, begging cock. I moan helplessly into our orgy of a kiss as his tongue continues to work me like we’re fucking already; his wonderful, delectable mouth is sucking, licking and biting the tender flesh of my lips, driving me absolutely fucking spare with raw, unabashed lust.

I feel his cock press hard underneath my arse and, _godMerlinyes_ , I want that cock… I wanked myself raw and stupid over the years, picturing it in every way the decadent imagination of a randy teenager could have it, and now I want to see it… and smell it – smell that wonderful musky scent up close –  and most definitely touch it; run my fingers across the velvety, aching hardness… and _ohgodfuckyes_ tease it, taste it, suck it, lick it… worship it with my wanton tongue and my damaged mouth, ready to take more. And ride it. God, _I want to ride that cock_ ! I’ve never… with a man, but I already know it’s what I want… with him. All the way; I want all the way with him. I’m so hard I’m aching, and when I move my arse in the slightest, the underside of my cock teases the hard, solid bulge underneath me, and he swears roughly… Jesus, _yesss_ … There’s no sweeter music to my ears; I nearly come in my pants.

Suddenly, I feel one of his large hands slide down my side, stopping just on top of my arse, brushing the crack probingly, while the other hand slips into my hair and pulls my head back slightly.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks me in a low, animalistic growl, and I can’t stop myself from moaning wantonly before I whisper a desperate, _“Yes!”_ into his mouth. “To fuck?” he wants to know, as if he needs to be sure that I’m aware of what I’m going for, and this time, I do press my arse down onto his hardness and whimper, _“God, yessss!”_ just to hear him growl again. I’m just too bloody desperate, you see.

He kisses me hungrily again, and I close my eyes to lose myself in the moment. I barely notice when he Disapparates us with our mouths still locked, and completely immersed in a world of our own.

~

So, I’m going to kill Hugo. Possibly. Maybe. If I get out of this one alive. Which I might not, if the blond perfection in my lap continues to kiss me like this… inviting my tongue into that pliant sweet mouth, only to take my breath away completely and toy with it like a true Slytherin. My heartbeat literally thunders in my ears. That’s how bloody much I want this. Merlin, this boy… he can really do this… I’m 45 and I’ve never been kissed like this. He kisses like he wants to own me… and mark me… and tell me something… I bet I’m missing something, I bet I am, only I can’t think straight with that beautiful tongue in my mouth, intertwined with my own, teasing and promising and… fuck, I might just have to buy Hugo that car he wants when he turns eighteen. Oh, holy fuuuuck, this is the best thing ever. Jesus, this is the kind of tongue-fucking you marry to get…

That tight silken arse is really pressing down onto my cock, and I’m not only dreaming. Bloody kid, I nearly had a heart attack when he played that hands-holding trick on me! I thought I’d lost it all, and now this… His decadent arse is rubbing against my confined cock, and he’s whimpering from the friction. It makes me want to tear off those cock-tease trousers and give it to him here, in front of everybody. Only – I can’t. But I can’t wait either. I’ll have to think about this… him… us… later… when I can actually _think_. Right now, I just want to fuck, and I want it so badly I’m barely able to see straight.

“Wanna get out of here?” I mumble, but it comes out like lion’s growl, because I just want to sink my mouth onto that slender, porcelain neck, suck on his pulse, and fuck him until he screams.

_“Yes.”_

He said, _“yes”_ , I think… I can’t be sure, there’s too much blood rushing in my ears, and with my last bit of sanity, I’m trying to confirm that he knows what I have in mind.

“To fuck?” Jesus, here goes my eloquence, the last of my manners… but I honest-to-god can’t think of anything more elaborate to say. I want this too fucking much, this… _need_ to own him is too urgent, and simply by asking the question, I’ve reached the limits of my civility. But at least now I get an answer I can’t _not_ hear.

_“God, yessss!”_ he whimpers, and his wonderful arse rubs against my trapped cock and that’s it, really. That’s all that I can take. The last thing I see is Hugo’s smirking face, and I think his mouth forms, _“Have fun!”_ , but we’re gone already; I’ve taken us somewhere where I could finish this and do it right.

~

I don’t know where he’s taken us. I’ve never been to this place before, but it smells of him; everything does, and it’s the best fucking smell in the world. That’s enough for me; that’s all I need to know. Aaaand it has a bed; this place has a bed, thank fuck, albeit a narrow one, but he takes care of that. With a wordless spell, mind you. Merlin, his impressive skills are almost as sexy as this hard, masculine body underneath me is! He allows me to be on top; I think this is his way of giving me what little control he can spare, because this is his show and we both know it. I immediately decide to make the best of it.

I lean down onto him and allow him to ravish me with his mouth some more. I feel my nipples stand at attention and I know I’m brushing against the very boundaries of my self-restraint, but I honestly can’t get enough of his mouth, of kissing him, of our tongues dancing their sensual, wild ballet of seduction. I set my hips into a tiny motion, just enough for the hard mounds under our trousers to touch and our needy cocks to rub against each other wistfully, because I want to hear him swear again. I love it. I’ve never been with anyone talking dirty to me, and I had no idea it would melt me the way it does.

His groaned, filthy words make it real; they bring it home that I’m with him now; a real man, not just a random boy my age, all too pretty, all too polished. _This_. This is him. The rough, large hand, taking possession of my arse… the long, daring, no-nonsense fingers teasing my crack with no restraint… the large, hard cock, still trapped, but shamelessly rutting against mine… – it’s all him, unabashed, savage, beautiful Ron Weasley, whom I’ve been dreaming about ever since I could picture him naked.

And so is the litany of expletives, breathed straight into my mouth: _“You fucking little cock-tease, you and your pretty pink lips and your untouchable, tight arse and that slow, sexy smile… that fucking inviting bedroom smile… like you want me…”_

“I do want you,” I tell him eagerly, and I can’t stop myself from telling him the whole truth. “I’ve wanted you for years… and years and years. I only waited not to make it awkward… for you… but it’s only ever been you. You’re my only wank fantasy. I can’t… without thinking of you. Girls were… just for show. I needed some release and I wanted some practise… for you. I couldn’t… with a man. Only you. Please… I want you to be my first… please – ”

I realize, I don’t even know what to call him. He’s always been Mr. Weasley to me, but when it’s just me and my fist, I whisper _“Ron”._ And somehow, he seems to read my thoughts and smiles one of those sexy, lopsided smirks.

“Ron,” he says. “Don’t you _“Mr. Weasley”_ me, I feel old enough as it is. It’s Ron.”

“Ron…” I repeat, and it’s no surprise that it slides off my tongue with practised ease. I’ve said it plenty enough, chanted it with my fist wrapped around my cock, mostly; just never out loud, and never to his face. And now he let me. It’s stupid how grateful and elated I feel, but using his name makes all the difference.

I slide down his body to thank him the way I chose to tonight; to show him that I mean business. And when I sink my head into the crook of his neck, where I once pressed my first kiss, he moans deeply. It’s like he just remembered it as well, and that wanton, unabashed sound almost makes me come. I realize that I’m moving much too slowly for how desperate we both are now. Slow is… for another time. Right now, I want to press my teeth into that milky white skin, scattered with golden freckles; I want to put my lips around the one taut nipple, and then the other, and suck deeply; I want to sink with my face into his crotch and let my mouth find that beautiful, weeping cock and take its hardness all the way down my throat.

I mouth his nipples under the shirt I haven’t managed to get rid of yet, and he lets me seek them out with my teeth and nibble on them. They’re hard as pebbles when I’m done with them, tense and mounting under the thin linen fabric that can’t hide their arousal any longer. His breathing comes in short, heavy gasps, and his blue eyes had gone dark. He’s really turned on now, and I’m quite pleased with myself for finding at least one thing that does it for him. But I’m given no time to admire my handiwork. Those long strong fingers move in to shred the offending piece of clothing in two, the silver buttons of his blue shirt flying in all directions, and my breath is literally knocked out of me at his savagery… and at the sight that meets me.

He’s got a new tattoo. I’ve seen the gorgeous one of the Ukranian Ironbelly tattooed across his entire back, I’ve seen the Gryffindor lion on his shoulder and a complex pattern of mythological snakes climbing up his arms to mask the scars, but I’ve never seen this one before. There are two silver scorpions magically inked across his chest, with their tails wrapped around his nipples and their claws touching at the centre, their eyes a crystal, near-violet blue colour and they’re the sexiest, most breathtaking sight ever.

“Ohhh…” I can’t stop my sigh of admiration, and I can’t stop myself from staring at their enchanting eyes. They’re the same colour as his orbs and the image is…

“For you…” he tells me in a strangled voice. “I wanted to have something that reminds me of you… near my heart.”

My chest is suddenly heavy with the weight of love at this quiet, shy confession, to the point that it threatens to spill over. Merlin… I love this man too much for my own good. I’m speechless, nearly dizzy from the overwhelming rush of emotion, and when I let my fingers slide across the magically imagery, I can almost feel the beautiful, exotic animals respond to my touch. My eyes sink into his, and in the blue ponds of brilliance, I see what he cannot say. I lean down onto him and whisper my holy truth into the sweet, beloved mouth.

“You’re killing me, Ron… Please don’t make me love you more, or I swear my heart will burst. I already love you so much that it hurts.”

“Scorpius…” He moans my name like he cannot help it, like it’s something he cannot stop tasting, like the feverish prayer of a devoted believer.

He instantly rolls us over, and I find myself underneath him, exactly where I wanted to be, and he no longer finds it fit to fool around. There is hot flame of blue determination in his hungry eyes when he tears my clothes off, not giving a flying fuck about the ruin he leaves in his wake; not caring that they were handpicked to seduce him, that they cost me a fortune and a pile of sleepless nights to put on. Apparently, I shouldn’t have bothered – it seems he likes me just as well in rags. His urgency and his brutal need are mind-boggling and _ohgoodfuckinggod_ , what a fucking turn on… _JesusMerlin…_ My bursting cock is already dripping with want when those large fists finally tear through the silver leather and release it.

“Oh, fuck…” is the only thing he groans at the sight, his blue eyes taking in my purple, engorged shaft with a crown of pearly drops melting down its length. “Oh, bloody fuck, gorgeous… I’m so royally fucked…”

And then that generous, soft mouth sinks down onto my begging cock, devouring it whole, and once I lose myself in the warm, debauched cave, tight and slippery around me, my hips arch off the mattress on their own, and I cannot stop myself from screaming.

~

Merlin… fuck… Christ… the way he tastes… It’s only a few drops of leaking pre-come, but I suck on it like I need it, like it’s precious and I can’t have a single drop go to waste. Jesus, I’ll never forget the addictive bittersweet taste, it’s so… him, so… exquisite. And I just love it how his beautiful, lithe body responds. It instantly arches off the surface, accompanied by a loud, unabashed scream, feeding me even more of his delectable cock, pushing it harder, deeper into my pliant, ready mouth. Not that I mind much, mind you.

I’m too busy spoiling him rotten with everything I’ve got… taking him into my mouth from the root to the leaking tip, over and over again, in a silent act of reverence… slowly brushing across the tender flesh with my tongue, discovering the most sensitive parts to paint with desire… pursing my mouth around the desperate, bursting tip of his cock, pulsing with juices underneath, and suckling gently… and collecting my payment in the form of an incoherent string of stuttered expletives, endearments, and delirious pleas for more.   

It’s not like there’s nothing in it for me, you see. The smell of arousal, caught in the pale carpet of his pubic hairs, drives me fucking wild. It that mind-boggling addictive musk of young, unblemished skin that does it for me; the fresh fragrance of a teenage boy mingled with a tiny sharp tinge of manhood underneath, just enough to remind me that he wants this, that he waited for me and seduced me, because now he can, and that now… _now we finally can_.

The very thought that this beauty chose me, that he wants me and aches for me and screams for me, sends the load of my juices pressing with exquisite pleasure-pain against the constraints of my cock, and I know I won’t last long. _Scorpius Malfoy chose me._ Beautiful… admired… desired Scorpius Malfoy, who should barely be aware that I exist, picked _me_ , and I… that’s… oh, beat that, for fuck’s sake; beat it, I dare you!

Just thinking about it makes my hand rush towards the fly of my trousers to free my hungry, swollen cock. I’m going to wank as I suck him, just the way I imagined it so many times in my guilty, forbidden fantasies. And if he finishes before me, I’m going to spill myself all over the pearly surface of his skin, glittering in the candlelight like the virgin landscape. Somewhere from the very depth of me rises a desire to mark him for my own.

He sank his fingers deeply into my hair moments ago, pursuing the illusion of control. They are warm and feel delicate against my scalp, but when they grip my hair more tightly, I know he’s brushing against the very edge of ecstasy. I look up to meet his eyes and they’re half-lidded, but entirely focused on me, and nearly black with desire. I never thought I’d see anyone look at me the way he does. Like he can’t get enough of me. Those pretty, soft lips, tender from our frantic, eager kissing, are moving in gasping reverence over my name, _“Ron… please… Ron… so close…”_ and his hips are caught in the ancient, unstoppable rhythm of chasing heaven as he sinks into the primal, wet heat of my mouth.

I see his eyes go wide when I release my engorged, bursting cock, and he keens like a needy whore when I run my fingers up and down the length for the first time. That sound, that bloody wanton sound of unabashed lust, finally makes me lose the last of my marbles. I close my hand around my swollen, leaking shaft and begin fisting it like it’s the only thing I live for. I can’t stop myself from moaning around his cock in my mouth. Wanking has _never_ felt so good, and I’m rapidly falling apart at the seams. I’m painfully close to the edge, my vision already going blurry at the edges, when I hear him stutter helpless, broken sounds of my name. And when I look up, I see him, _feel_ him coming, and it’s the most sublime, heart-stopping sight I’ve ever seen.

~

I knew it. I knew he was a fucking _god_ when he’s on his knees, but I’ve never… I never… I can’t even… The way his silken fiery hair spills across my lap as he sucks me… he’s just a vision... The way his warm, skilled mouth fits around me, stretched, tight, with that masterful tongue licking the very sanity out of me, teasing me, pleasing me, driving me wild and around the bend. I’m never going to be the same when he’s done with me; I didn’t even know fucking could be like this. Compared to this, all my past experiences seem tepid and lukewarm, while this… This is like being caught in a tornado of overwhelming feelings, sensual experiences and awakened senses. I never knew one could feel so much during sex.

He’s just… I love him. I love him; I love his supple soft mouth, I love the feeling of his blue eyes, tinted with lust, on my face and I love this ultimate fantasy he has for a body. I love him… and I want him. I’m possessive about him, and even when he sucks my cock a way that makes my eyes roll back in my head, I have to chase away simmering, jealous thoughts of where he learned to do that. But luckily, I’m so obsessed with his mouth that I’m pretty soon lost to any coherent thought. No one ever ate my cock the way he does. Like he loves it; like he loves the taste of it, as if I can’t shove it deep enough in his mouth because he wants more.

I’ve never fucked anyone’s mouth like this before, with this much abandon, with so little self-control. It’s like my body realizes that I’m with him, that this is who I’ve been waiting for, and won’t let me hold back in the least. And it’s not just my hips slamming my shaft down his throat. It’s also my fingers, threading through the silken red hair that smells of summer delights and nights filled with passion. It’s also my mouth, which seems to have learned new words for this occasion, and I can’t stop telling him how much I want this, how I want it, and always only with him. I can’t stop saying his name, and I can’t stop staring at him. I’m afraid he’ll disappear if I blink and I’ve wanted this for so long that I can’t have that.

I knew I was smitten. I knew I was in love. But my body, starved of him and turned desperate with years of waiting, has just shown me the new depths to my obsession. It’s not only the way he drives me mad with his mouth – and I think he must be a world-class master of using his tongue – it’s also the way he looks at me when he does it. As if there’s nothing else he’d rather do, no one else he’d rather be doing it with. And that just does it for me. He wants me just the way I want him, and for me that’s a mind-boggling, orgasmic thought.

I’m so close I feel the tension in my balls grow unbearable – and then I see him pull out his cock, and my vision nearly goes black. The voice that comes out of my throat is one of most primal need, and I desperately wish I wasn’t so bloody close so I could have more time to admire _this fucking cock_. He could easily be a porn star; his cock is perfect. It’s big and angry looking, so heavy with his unreleased load it’s leaking and just… bloody enchanting. I can’t stop staring. And then, he starts wanking and sighs with that deep voice vibrating around my cock… and that’s the last thing I remember. My loins just explode at the sight. The world slows down and turns into a blur.

I feel my fingers gripping his hair tightly, and my arse contracting as I arch off the mattress into the bliss; I hear myself roar his name. I’ve been shattered to pieces, flying into the darkness of ecstasy so perfect, I don’t really want to come back. Ever. The way he made me come is a mind-altering experience.

But I do come back, all too soon. Or none too soon, if you like. Because the first thing I see when I open my eyes is the blue eyes watching me, smiling, and it’s the sight I want to come back to every time. I notice a trace of my juices in the corner of his mouth and want to taste it, but then another thing catches my attention, and suddenly it’s all I care about: his gorgeous hard cock is still full of come. My own shaft twitches at the sight, and my body knows it before I do – as boneless and destroyed as I am, I want it.

~

He’s finally back and wow, just… wow…. the sight he makes… I’m left speechless. Gorgeous… just bloody gorgeous; that’s what he is... With his body drenched in sweat, with those swollen, damaged lips trying to catch his breath, he’s a sight to die for. I’ve definitely ruined his perfection, and I like it. Leaving chaos behind has always been my trademark. I like watching him come back to this world, so I slow down my wanking because I want him to see me come all over him. I know he’d like that too, so I try as best as I can – but it’s hard. It’s hard when a beautiful young man who’s been starring in your every wanking fantasy lies in front of you, looking utterly debauched like a fallen angel, ravaged by a bone-melting orgasm. I’m so going to love making a mess out of him… for as many times as he’ll have me.

He opens his magical silver-blue eyes and I can see myself in them. He smiles sweetly, like he is grateful to still see me here, and something in my chest flutters to life. I like that look. I like it very much. And then, surprisingly, his arm slowly moves up. His fingers wrap around my cock, and it takes everything I’ve got not to come at that moment, at the look in his eyes and his hand wrapped around my solid, leaking shaft.

“I love you,” he tells me quietly, and my heart goes wild at these words. It’s like I’ve never heard them before; like this time, they come from the right person, and my heart responds without even giving me a choice. I can’t say it, though; I can’t say the same words. They get stuck somewhere in my throat, knowing I’ll turn into a right sap with my shaky voice and my incoherent thoughts, but he seems to understand and he only smiles sweetly once again.

“And that’s why I want you – and only you – all the way,” he says quietly, as if telling me a secret, and I can barely believe his words. I shake my head, trying to tell him that he’s not ready, that we should take it slow, because this just might ruin this experience for him. But his fingers tighten around my cock, moving gently, enticingly, and suddenly, I can’t utter a word. But I can moan needily, it seems. He’s… very persuasive.

“I know you want it, too,” he says softly, but there’s a sex-charged edge to his voice that wasn’t there before, and I’m completely helpless against it. “I can feel your juices flowing under my fingers, I can see it in your eyes how much you want it… want me. I’ve never been with a man, you know that. And now that I’ve seen you – you and this beautiful cock of yours that makes my mouth water and leaves me breathless - now no one else will ever do. I want you...” his fingers intensify their brain-melting massage “… I want this this beautiful, fat cock of yours inside me… pounding me into an _utter.fucking.mess._ I want you stretching me… filling me… fucking me until we scream for each other and we’re finally one – the way we were meant to be.”

_JesusMerlin_ , that sweet, dirty mouth of his… He’s staring at me with those curious silver-blue eyes, and my fingers move of their own accord to do his bidding. Before I know it, I’m busy getting him ready for what he’s asking me to do, because he’s right and there isn’t any other way for us. He wants me all the way, I want him all the way, over and over again, and there isn’t any wrong or any right left.

“We’re two parts of the same magic,” he whispers into my mouth as I kiss him greedily. “My heart recognised you when I was eleven, and it’s been calling to you ever since. I never wanted to belong to anyone the way I want to belong to you. I only dream of you, of being with you, of being a part or you. Because this is my place.”

He places a hand onto my chest, and my heart wants to fly out to meet his warm, enchanting touch. And after that, I just don’t care about anything else but us anymore. I get him ready with my fingers and a spell I haven’t used in decades, working as gently as I can in my overwhelming urgency… I spread him tenderly with my fingers and let my tongue delve into his tight hole until he’s soft and open, slippery with my juices and panting my name… He opened to let my fingers in, and I let him in on the joys of that sweet spot, hiding inside him that makes him throw his head back and impale himself on my fingers with a loud, _“Fuck, Ron… what the… oh, please... fuck…”_

Even before I breach him for the first time, I already know that I’m utterly, undeniably, irreversibly fucked: I’m in love with Scorpius Malfoy, in a way I’ve never been in love with anyone in my life. He presses all my buttons; he smells right to me, his body was made to fit me. I sink into him, make sure to brush against that little piece of heaven inside him, and collect his first awed moan with my mouth. And after that there’s nothing but a blur of frantic, merciless pounding and receiving in the primal rhythm of life, our godless screams and brutal profanities mixed with gasped words of worship, and I finally get to own that beautiful young man the way I pictured it in my dirtiest, wildest fantasies – only better.

We come seconds apart. He comes when I whisper that I love him in his ear, over and over again, like an unbreakable string of breathless vows that bind us together. And I come soon after, when he pulls himself up and bites my neck with a pained, _“Ron… love you, Ron…”_ and spills all over the tight, warm place between our bodies. I don’t know if it’s the heart-stopping, sublime expression of unimaginable bliss on his face that does it, or perhaps how vulnerable and devoted he sounds when he gives in to me, but I come harder than I’ve ever come in my life.

My release is brutal, as if something wants to tear me in two. I can’t make heads or tails of the world around me, or of my own confounded thoughts save one: that I’ve finally found the one… the one that makes me feel complete. Like I’ve come home – or something equally incomprehensible and insane. Like what we just did was far more than a simple act of sex, however hot; it was more like one of… _bonding_? Fuck if I know what I’m on about!

I can’t really think, I’ve fallen apart much too fast and I’m all too shattered. But it’s all right. Who needs sanity anyway?! Overrated, completely overrated. I’m much better this way; I’m still feeling the silken sensation of the blond head pressed into the crook of my neck, smelling the carnal scent of our sweat and come we’re bathing in, and hearing the incoherent, barely human sounds and broken whispers that accompany the bliss we share. How could I wish for anything better? I think I’ve just ended up in Heaven with Scorpius Malfoy, and there’s no place I’d rather be.

~

I’m lying with my head on his chest, occasionally pressing an odd kiss or two into the warm little spot between the two inked scorpions, just to feel his heart beat under my tender mouth, and I’ve never been happier and more at peace in my entire life. The large palm of his hand is covering half of my face because he seems to like resting his fingers in my hair, and it makes me stupidly happy that I make him so serene, so… comfortable around me. In the semi-darkness of the shelter his hand creates, I doze off for a few timeless moments, lured to rest by the slow rise-and-fall motion of his warm chest. Dear God, how can I love someone so much that I’m afraid to go to sleep for fear of losing them?

I slide my head higher to press another kiss to the base of his endless neck, knowing how much he likes that, and when he hums happily in his half-sleep I whisper a quiet _“I love you”_ into his ear. It’s terribly undignified and very un-Malfoyian of me, how I can’t seem to stop saying it – but it’s too much of a comfort to me. Every time I say it, I’m reminded that he’s here to hear it, and that I finally got my man. In this light, dignity doesn’t seem terribly important.

I decide to let him rest, and I’m quite awake now, so I lift my head from his chest, as much as his big hand allows it, and I look around curiously. The tiny attic room is terrible – taste-wise, that is, but at the same time strangely welcoming, definitely cosy and – well, nice. Like someone once felt happy here, and the feeling is still there. It’s crammed with all things… well, fuck me – _teenager_ , it seems! And it’s very, very orange. Painfully so. To the point that I have to chuckle. I put my head back onto his chest and ask:

“Where are we anyway?”

The answer doesn’t come immediately, and, incomprehensibly, I feel the muscles in his chest tense.

“My home… My old room in the Burrow, my parents’ home. They’re away to visit their first great-grandchild, so I thought… since there’s more privacy here…”

For some reason he sounds defensive. But I know all about his humble beginnings. I’ve read every book with a mention of his name, and what Hugo said about his self-esteem, or lack thereof, offers me an explanation he’s not willing to provide.

“I like it.”

It’s all I say, but I feel his chest relax, as if he just exhaled a breath of relief, and I’ve just earned myself a tiny kiss pressed into my hair. It makes me smile like I’ve just won a grand prize. But I suddenly think of another reason why he could have brought me here, and I blurt it out before I can stop myself:

“Have you done it here before? With someone… with another man? Have you?”

I can’t believe how anxious I sound, and I’m immediately flooded with fear that I’m too clingy. Only… I can’t seem to control it. I’m jealous, that’s it. I’m a Malfoy, I would be. But he’s surprisingly calm when he answers:

“Just one.” And he knows what is coming, so he answers before I ask. “You know who.”

Of course I bloody well know who! It just devastates me to know who I’m up against! And I think he understands my unspoken misery, because he lifts my face up and kisses me lightly.

“It was just a bit of experimenting. Over twenty-five years ago, Scorpius. Nothing like this, nothing like what we’ve got. Just enough to teach me the basics and take the edge off all the mortal peril we were in. We both needed it. It brought us closer together; it cemented the trust we had in each other. But only then. It never happened again after the war. We both got what we wanted, with who we wanted it with, and that was it. So you see, my beautiful Slytherin serpent, I’ve only done it with one other man – and not in twenty-five years. It’s a miracle you’re not complaining how rusty I am!”

There’s a bit of laughter in his voice at the end, and it helps me relax. _Somewhat_. I’m still strangely apprehensive and anxious, and it’s suddenly not very hard to understand the envy and unpronounced feeling of inferiority my father always projects when speaking of the Saviour. But it seems that having sex with Ron Weasley also gave him access to my innermost thoughts.

His large hands suddenly pull me higher up his tall body, and now I’m no longer parked underneath him, but face to face with him. His brilliant blue eyes are serious, but gentle.

“Scorpius, you know I’ve got a history. I’m decades older than you, and I haven’t been abstinent, you know that. That comes as part of the baggage when you’re involved with an old bloke.”

There’s a tiny, self-deprecating smile in the corner of his soft mouth that does more for getting rid of my anxiety than what he’s trying to say. I press a small kiss right on top of it, as if I’m trying to catch it with my mouth, and I feel better already. He mumbles something like, _“Behave!”,_ but I can see the smile blossom again in the same place as before.

“Anyway… this is not going to work if you’re going to question me constantly, little Malfoy,” he says, uncommonly softly, and I have to swallow a sudden surge of panic at the ominous _“not going to work”_ phrase. Merlin, please don’t… Don’t tell me I’ve dug my own grave! But he’s still looking at me, and it slowly swims into my mind that this is not the look of a man, trying to end things. More like the image of one that’s overwhelmed with feelings he doesn’t know how to express.

“God, I wish I wasn’t such a bloody troglodyte when it comes to talking!” he blurts in a strangled voice. “You have to understand… I don’t have big words for what I feel for you… but that doesn’t mean that something big and… significant, isn’t there. I’ve burned all the bridges for you tonight. I’ve effectively divorced my wife because I couldn’t stop thinking about you; I’ve abandoned a house full of guests to be with you, and I’m risking the wrath of the entire wizarding world, friends and foes alike, once they find out about us. Your father will be livid. I have no idea how to tell Rose… and my family, the Weasleys, and Harry…. They’re going to go mental. But…”

He pauses and I realize that I’m holding my breath.

“But I’m willing to try. I’m willing to try because I believe that we have a chance, you and I. You make me feel… it’s bloody hard to explain, but… _this_. You make me feel like this.”

He closes his eyes and kisses me deeply, lovingly, with a myriad of unspoken feelings, and he murmurs into my mouth: “No one else makes me feel like this. I don’t want to lose it… please. Please don’t ruin it for us. No more questions.”

“No more questions,” I promise into out breathless kiss. “Just a request.”

He looks at me with a question in his sparkling blue eyes, and I blurt out quickly, while I still have the courage, “Come and meet my father tomorrow.”

You see, I have to make sure that he’s serious about us…

I clearly see the shock in his eyes, and I hurry to explain: “The news will spread like wildfire. And I don’t have any intention of hiding… us. But he is my father, and I don’t want him to find out from anyone else.”

And then he shocks me when he doesn’t put up a fight and doesn’t say another word about it. He simply nods and kisses me again, sealing our deal.

~

So, erm, I’m quite possibly insane for agreeing to this. Ever. Malfoy, the horrible one, is just going to take one look at me, holding his son’s hand and strike me with A. Kedavra, that will make my remains  smoulder for days. I can’t say that I’d blame him. I’m not exactly what you’d call “a catch”, am I? A 45-year old divorcé – but so is he – stocking the shelves at the joke shop for a living – which he’s not. How did I ever agree to this?! I always knew Scorpius Malfoy would be the death of me. I just think it might happen earlier than I anticipated!

Well, nothing for it now. I grip the wand in my right hand more tightly and hold on to my beautiful blond lover’s hand for dear life. We could Apparate, but the wards are not tuned to me yet, and I might get shredded. Or something like that; whatever the ex-Death Eater deemed appropriate for uninvited guests. So we Apparated in front of the wrought-iron fence, where Scorp disabled the wards. Once we were here, we just walked the distance to the majestic front door. We didn’t really mind it. It was a beautiful morning and we only seemed to give one house-elf a shock of his lifetime by holding hands.

I’m nervous as fuck once Scorpius rings the bell; I’m not going to lie about that. I _never_ liked Draco Malfoy, and time has done little to temper our animosity. The few times we met, we had to try hard to keep being civil to one another. But the Draco Malfoy that opens the door – himself, no house-elves – isn’t the Draco Malfoy I remember from the Ministry charity receptions, or even the Platform 9 3/4. He’s strangely dishevelled; his clothes are in obvious disarray, but somehow he doesn’t look bad, just strangely… relaxed, even younger and… _less evil_? And something else I can’t identify.

“Hello, father! Merry Christmas,” Scorpius says calmly, and slightly swings the hands we’re holding back and forth, to bring them to his father’s attention. “Do you mind if my boyfriend and I come in? It’s been a really long, though kind of magical night. Or would you prefer a public scandal?”

And the next thing I find surprising is how very _unsurprised_ Draco Malfoy looks at the sight of our intertwined fingers. Just a bit defeated, as if he had been given too little time to come to terms with the inevitable. Right now, nothing makes sense to me. Until a tall figure appears from behind his back and suddenly _I.can’t.breathe_.

“And Merry Christmas to you, too, dad,” says my son, my Hugo, wearing nothing but a pair of threadbare jeans and a big, sweet, _oh-yes-I’ve-scored_ smile. By the way he leisurely swings his arm across the Malfoy’s – the evil Malfoy’s – shoulders it is obvious that he didn’t arrive minutes ago… and that he managed to _properly_ introduce himself. Thoroughly so. Bloody Weasley genes… And now I can identify the expression on Malfoy’s – the Senior Malfoy’s face. _Shagged-out._ Properly shagged-out.

As Scorpius begins to giggle hysterically, I’m standing there, rooted to the floor, feverishly hoping that I’m wrong. He's only seventeen, for fuck's sake! And clearly, Malfoy is aware of that. He looks sheepish, and more ashamed than I’ve ever seen him. But Hugo… Hugo is literally _beaming_.

“I thought I’d make it easy for you and… _prepare_ Mr. Malfoy here for your big news,” he says with a big, proud smile. “So I grabbed a bottle of wine, came here to introduce myself and… well, Scorp, you’re absolutely right, it was a magical night!”

It takes them ten minutes to revive me.

 

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR 2016 everyone! :)


End file.
